


At Home In A Glass Case

by antigrav_vector, Quarra



Series: Caskets and Cookies: Pack Bonding for the Socially Inept [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha CC-2224 | Cody, Alpha Obi-Wan Kenobi, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brief anxieties about non-con, Count Dooku was a bad guy, Crack Treated Seriously, Double Agent Count Dooku, Feels, Fix-It, M/M, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), No Smut, No non-con or threat of non-con happens, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Obi-Wan is just worried for a minute about it, Omega Count Dooku, Then he got his shit together and tried to fix things, This fic is just a whole lot of Obi-Wan and Cody being confused as hell, This might be a little cracky, Very minimal use of Mando'a, With Mixed Results, lineage feels, maybe? - Freeform, some suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29967693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra
Summary: When Obi-Wan and the 212th are captured by the Separatists, Obi-Wan expects terrible things are in store for him. When he and Cody are chained together and brought to see Count Dooku on Serenno, those expectations get worse.He was not expecting a tour of Dooku’s castle. Or a tea party. Nor had he realized that the infamously intimidating Sith Lord was actually an omega.Somehow, none of this was going how Obi-Wan thought it would.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dooku & CC-2224 | Commander Cody, Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dooku/Sifo-Dyas (Star Wars)
Series: Caskets and Cookies: Pack Bonding for the Socially Inept [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2204157
Comments: 15
Kudos: 166





	At Home In A Glass Case

**Author's Note:**

> Notes from Quarra: Ok folks, this was spawned entirely from the idea that Count Dooku is an omega, and then it turned into a feelsy fix-it, because apparently that is my jam for Star Wars. Soon, I dragged Grav into helping me, and that random idea grew plot and a whole set of world building, which _dammit_ , no, I have other projects to work on! ... But this wouldn't leave me alone, so here is a one shot. There is a sequel which will post shortly, because why write one fic when you could write two, amirite?
> 
> (Glossary for the few Mando'a words used is at the end.)

\---

“Ah. I see you have finally arrived.” Count Dooku’s voice was as chilly as his gaze. He was dressed in black and dark brown, with a long sweeping cape that billowed around him in the breeze of the castle courtyard. 

Obi-Wan refused to be cowed. Instead, he smiled cheekily at the Count and said, “But we were having such a fun time on our way here. We took the scenic route, you know.”

The Force suppressing cuffs around his wrists guaranteed that he couldn’t really feel Cody’s exasperated amusement at the sass, but he could see the way Cody twitched in place next to him. They’d been cuffed, chained, and tethered together. Both of them had been thoroughly searched and all of their weapons confiscated. Thankfully, Cody still had his armor, sans helmet. It was more than Obi-Wan had expected, and he dared to hope that it might help his mate survive whatever happened next.

Count Dooku’s lips twitched. Whether it was from amusement or irritation, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell. The Force was tantalizingly out of reach. No amount of Force suppression was pleasant, but apparently the Count had gone for high quality cuffs. It meant there was no accompanying nausea, pain, or electrocution to go with the muffled feeling in his head.

“Come along, then.” Count Dooku waved at them.

Asajj gracefully stalked forward with the control key for their bindings in hand. She’d been part of the bait for the trap that had caught them.

No one had expected the battle to turn the way it had. All of their intelligence had said that Ventress was after the refinery. So when she, and the entire droid army that had invaded the system, had suddenly ignored their target and switched to cutting off the 212th instead, it had come as a rather nasty surprise. 

“Well done, my dear,” the Count smirked at Ventress as she dropped the control key into his hand.

To Obi-Wan's intense surprise, as she passed by the Count, he rubbed his wrist along her arm, scenting her as if they were pack. 

Every single time that Obi-Wan had encountered Count Dooku, he’d been so heavily dosed with scent suppressants that not even a whiff of his designation had leaked through. His personal scent was incredibly faint because of it. The fact that he’d scented her at all was strange.

Not only that, but the act of sharing a scent was a rather personal one. That brief touch was along her arm; the location was more in line with familial ties than anything sexual. Obi-Wan was weirdly relieved about that. 

The gesture was almost… paternal. 

That did not at _all_ jive with what Obi-Wan knew of the Count. Or of Ventress, for that matter.

Ventress’ smirk softened for just a tiny moment, and then she walked off, down some other hallway.

“This way, grandpadawan,” the Count said. He turned and began walking away. 

With no one there to prod them onwards, Obi-Wan took a moment to exchange a confused look with Cody.

They could make a break for it. But to what end? They were still chained up and suppressed. The Count was free and right there.

An escape right now was just barely possible. The odds wouldn’t be good.

Despite that chance, Obi-Wan hesitated. Something wasn’t as it seemed here. The Count’s body language wasn’t aggressive, or even gloating. Under his very stiff posture and mask of indifference, Obi-Wan thought that the Count looked… tired. 

This whole situation was karking _weird_ , and he wanted to know what Dooku was up to. 

The Count did _not_ lead them to the dungeons, as Obi-Wan had expected. Not that he knew where the dungeons in this castle were -- though he assumed that they must exist. 

Instead, the Count led them in what Obi-Wan could only describe as a tour around the keep. From their starting point in the transport hangar, Dooku walked them through the main entryway, rather than through a less grand side hall. 

The castle was as extravagant as Obi-Wan expected it to be. The style was austere, with tall expanses of stonework and dark tapestries featuring what had to be Dooku’s ancestors. To his intense surprise, there were Mandalorian guards stationed around. 

“Where ever did you find Mandalorians who would accept working as palace guards?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but ask. The _Mando’ad’e_ in question weren’t even in Death Watch colors. He didn’t recognize the symbol on their pauldrons; a star and a feathered wing inside of a circle.

He did notice the way their attention snapped to him and Cody the moment they’d walked in. Damn the cuffs on him. It would have been very useful to discern their temperaments. Or at least get a clue to their emotional state. As it was, he was forced to rely on what he knew of armored body language, which granted, was something he had experience in. 

The guards gave off few tells. There was an interested tilt to their helmets, and some measure of wariness in how close their hands were to their blasters. No aggression. 

“It was a strange turn of circumstance,” Dooku rumbled. Obi-Wan wasn’t surprised at all at the not-answer.

“Sir,” one of the Mandalorians said, stepping forward to address the Count. 

“Yes, Spitfire?”

The Mandalorian’s t-visor turned to glance at Obi-Wan and Cody, and then looked back to the Count. 

Before he could speak, the Count nodded and answered the unspoken question. “Ah. Yes. There are more of the 212th currently awaiting processing.”

Cody bristled at that phrasing. Obi-Wan held back a grimace.

“Don’t you _touch_ them,” Cody hissed.

Count Dooku gave Cody a droll look. A slight smirk was on his lips and there was an upward twitch of his eyebrows that suggested his deep amusement at the idea that Cody was in any position to make demands. 

“I’m simply making sure that they will not harm themselves or others, Commander.”

A thousand terrible possibilities rushed through Obi-Wan’s head on how that would happen. What did the Count expect them to do? And what was he willing to do to contain them? 

Foolish question. Count Dooku was Sith. There was no depraved depth that he would not be willing to plumb. 

“If they are unharmed, you could get ransom for them,” Obi-Wan tried. It was a long shot, but he would at least attempt it. “We all know how you have a tendency to shoot survivors, but even you wouldn’t bring a whole company to your home planet just to execute them.”

Now it was the Mandalorian’s turn to bristle.

If anything, Count Dooku’s amusement only seemed to grow. “Even I wouldn’t? How confident you are of my actions and motives, grandpadawan. Qui-Gon had that same blind, _stupid_ arrogance.”

“ _You will not speak of him_ ,” Obi-Wan snapped. Disconnected as he was from the Force, he wasn’t able to rely on it to help rein in his alpha instincts. He wanted to bare his teeth at the insult to his dead master. 

“I can, and I will,” Dooku said with a glower, his amusement vanishing like mist in the morning. “He was my padawan before he was your master, and while I am eternally grateful that he finally pulled his head out of his ass and chose you as his student, I know his flaws better than most.” 

That admission made Obi-Wan blink. Dooku had been pleased at Master Qui-Gon’s acceptance of Obi-Wan as a padawan? Obi-Wan hadn’t even realized that Dooku was aware of the situation at the time. 

And again, Obi-Wan was back to being confused about this whole affair. 

His silence must have soothed something in the Count, because Dooku took a slow breath and let his visible annoyance melt away. “Learn from your lineage’s mistakes, Master Kenobi. _Listen_ , and look beyond your own assumptions. That is the only way any of you will survive.”

While Obi-Wan was still processing that, Spitfire sighed audibly.

“Do you really need to bait them, sir?” Spitfire sounded so much like Rex in that moment that Obi-Wan and Cody both did a double take.

Count Dooku waved a dismissive hand, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the Mandalorian’s obvious informality. 

“I don’t expect that we will have any additional surprises from the GAR, before I am able to…” The Count paused to look over Obi-Wan and Cody. “Deal with these two.” A long sigh dragged out of him. “But Skywalker lives to aggravate me, so keep vigilant.”

Cody smirked while Obi-Wan gave the Count a charming smile.

Spitfire snorted. “Sir, yes, sir.” The response sounded less than respectful, almost toeing the line of sarcasm. The Count didn’t seem to notice or care.

“After your shift, you and your brothers may check in with the medics to see how the new prisoners are doing. I suspect that they will be well on their way to staging a jail break. I need them to at least have one shot to the head before they all start crawling through the walls.”

That was all Obi-Wan could take. He stepped up into the Count’s space, dragging Cody along with him.

“Enough of this, Count,” Obi-Wan said with a low, rumbling growl. “Whatever you’re doing, it won’t work.”

The Count’s response left him utterly wrong footed. Again.

Dooku put a hand on his shoulder and said, “It will, grandpadawan. Don’t worry. You’ll be joining your pack soon.”

The words should have been a threat. 

They didn’t _feel_ like a threat. This close to Dooku, Obi-Wan could just barely catch a whiff of his scent under all of the suppressants. He smelled like tea and charred wood, and weirdly like _comfort and sympathy_.

Before he could stop gaping, the Count had stepped back and started walking again. 

“Have someone contact me if anything happens,” the Count called back to Spitfire. 

Spitfire gave him a lazy salute and stepped back towards his spot near the door. 

Obi-Wan stood there and stared at the Count’s retreating form. Then he turned to look at Cody.

“What,” Cody started.

“The sith-hells?” Obi-Wan finished. 

“Better follow him, sirs,” Spitfire said, not unkindly. “He’s got more to show you. Big plans for today.”

They gave the Mandalorians at the door one more long look, and then started after the Count. 

Dooku had paused for a moment, waiting for them to catch up. When they were back in conversation range, he waved them forward.

“There is much to see, before I send you to your troops,” he said.

Obi-Wan was absolutely done with all the mystery. 

Fine. This might as well happen.

“What is it that you want to show us, Count?” Obi-Wan asked. Worse came to worst, at least they were keeping the Count occupied while the rest of the 212th planned an escape. 

“My home, first and foremost.”

Clearly, the Count existed to blindside Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan nodded, slightly incredulously. “As charmed as I am by your manners, Count Dooku, I’m afraid I don’t see the point.”

“I am very proud of my home, grandpadawan. I would like you and your mate to see it.”

Alarm stiffened Obi-Wan’s spine. His mating bond with Cody _was not_ public knowledge. Most of the Order didn’t even know, though he had discussed it with the High Council. They’d given their blessing, but had requested that the pair keep the information limited to those close to them. The 212th knew, as did most of the 501st. 

Anakin… well. Anakin was a bit oblivious. Obi-Wan had tried to bring the matter up to him, but Anakin constantly pulled the conversation off track. They’d been so busy and were so often torn in different directions with the war that Obi-Wan hadn’t managed to find a moment to sit his old padawan down and make _sure_ that he understood what was going on. For coming to the Order so late, Anakin had some very strange ideas about what was proper Jedi behavior. Obi-Wan hadn’t the faintest idea where he’d gotten them.

“Your intelligence network is impressive, Count,” Cody managed to say with relatively little strain. 

The Count glanced back at them. A certain amount of sardonic humor was back in his expression. Obi-Wan was starting to wonder if that was his default for interaction. 

“Welcome to the lineage, Commander Cody,” the Count said with dry humor. “If I’d known when you two had made a formal commitment, then I would have sent a gift.”

Cody muttered something under his breath that even Obi-Wan couldn’t catch, but still sounded uncomplimentary. The Count ignored it.

They came to a long hall filled with portraits, actually painted ones rather than holos. 

“This is my family’s line,” the Count said as they walked by picture after picture of tall, dark haired aristocrats in fine clothes. “My sister, Jenza. My brother, Ramil. Our father, Gora.”

“Did you kill them?” Obi-Wan asked with his most innocent tone of voice. He never could resist baiting his opponents. 

“Ramil, yes,” the Count replied evenly, as if he wasn’t discussing casual murder. “Jenza died a few years ago. Pirates. Gora and my mother, Anya, died several years before that. While Gora passed from old age, I am certain that he beat Anya to death.”

“Delightful,” Cody muttered. 

“I’ll have your portraits done while you are here,” Dooku added.

“Pardon me, what now?” Obi-Wan was not sitting for a portrait. 

While Obi-Wan was still reeling from that, Cody had apparently already regained his equilibrium. 

“I’m sure you have access to enough holos of Jango that you won’t need anything else from me,” Cody said with no little bit of sarcasm. 

“True. But you are not your template.”

The baffled silence that statement created lasted for the rest of their walk through the portrait gallery. 

This was truly the strangest capture that Obi-Wan had ever been involved in. The Count was showing them his home. He’d repeatedly brought up lineage ties, as if they even mattered to him. He was acting…

Obi-Wan hesitated to put a label to it. If this was some sort of trick meant to throw Obi-Wan off of his game, then it was working. To what _end_ , though?

“Down that hall is medical. We’ll be going there soon enough. Beyond it are the halls where your troops are recovering. To the right are the guest wings. Above us are the private suites of the ruling family.”

 _Kind of him to point out to us exactly where we’ll want to go for our escape_ , Obi-Wan thought suspiciously. 

This whole little tour could be construed as gloating, but there was none of the superior attitude. Well. Not an _excessive_ amount of superior attitude. The Count seemed to radiate casual hauteur. None of their current interaction came off like he was specifically rubbing their captivity in their faces, though. 

If anything, he reminded Obi-Wan of a proud denmaker. 

Which was _ridiculous_. 

They walked through several parlors and extravagant halls. Obi-Wan would have liked to blame the ostentatious decoration on Dooku, but most of it appeared to be decades, if not centuries old. Family heirlooms. 

The first room that came as a complete surprise was the indoor garden. It was built in much the same style as the Room of a Thousand Fountains, with little streams and tiny waterfalls sprinkled throughout the lush, naturally rampant greenery. 

In the center of a large, grassy clearing was a small table with three chairs. A full tea service was waiting for them, complete with tiny cakes and little bite sized sandwiches.

The Count sat down and waved for them to join him.

Cody’s brow was furrowed in confusion. He cast a worried look to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan shrugged minutely. He had no idea what was going on, either.

“What type of tea do you prefer, grandpadawan?” the Count asked.

There were several small tins arrayed next to the decorative metal tea kettle on the table. 

For lack of anything better to do, Obi-Wan took a seat. There was a bit of shuffling needed to settle properly into the chair, given the chains and how he and Cody were still strung together. Between the two of them, they managed to get seated with their dignity intact. Relatively.

“I’m afraid that I haven’t had much of a chance to peruse the various varieties of tea lately, what with the war,” Obi-Wan said sweetly. “Droid armies rolling over Republic worlds have rather disrupted trade. Not to mention, how the Order has relegated to the front lines. What a pity, that is. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you Count Dooku?”

Rather than irritating the Count, as he’d hoped, Dooku simply let out a short breath of amusement. It didn’t even qualify as a laugh.

“More than you do, my dear grandpadawan.” Before Obi-Wan could answer that sally, the Count continued. “Since you will not choose, I will guess. And you, Commander? I am aware that the _Vod’e_ do not often enjoy tea. There is caff.”

“And how would you know that, Sith?” Cody asked between gritted teeth.

“I make it my business to know.” Another not-answer. Obi-Wan was getting heartily tired of them. 

“I’ll have what General Obi-Wan is having.” Cody didn’t even bother with a fake smile. 

“As you wish. Tea for us all, then.” The Count waved at the spread of treats in front of them. “Help yourselves while the tea steeps. You must be hungry after your trip, and we have some walking left to do before our visit is done.”

“If you were so concerned about our welfare, you could have fed us on our way here,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Or, perhaps, and I realize I’m going out on a limb here, you could have simply… invited us? Rather than kidnapped us?”

Count Dooku raised an eyebrow at them. “But would you have come? And, perhaps more importantly, who would you have told of your visit?”

An interesting point. Obi-Wan would have been obliged to tell the High Council. That information would likely have gone to the Chancellor, at least, if not the Senate in general. An invitation to meet the leader of the Seperatist Movement would be an incredible opportunity, and a very suspicious one. 

But… Count Dooku had once been a Jedi. If he’d appealed to Obi-Wan as a member of his lineage, or perhaps gone directly to Yoda, and requested that the meeting be private… Well, the High Council still would have discussed it. But it was possible that they might have sanctioned the trip as a secret mission. Stranger things had happened. 

“If you’d contacted your old master, I am sure that Master Yoda would have responded. Something could have been arranged,” Obi-Wan offered. Since Dooku had been putting such emphasis on their lineage, it might be worth it to remind him that his master was still alive and well.

“He would have discussed it with the High Council,” Dooku said dismissively as he busied himself with measuring tea leaves and pouring water. 

“Why is that a problem?” Obi-Wan asked. His intense curiosity had finally gotten the better of his suspicion. 

“Because your High Council has an information leak.” The Count gave him a very sweet, very fake little smile. 

Obi-Wan shook his head. “That is impossible. I am on the Council, I know them all well. There is not a _single_ Jedi in that group who would willingly give away sensitive information.”

Dooku seemed unperturbed by Obi-Wan’s statement. He kept his eyes on the steeping tea and then took a moment to carefully claim a small, yellow cookie from the spread in front of them.

“I would like you to think about your statement, Master Kenobi,” Dooku said finally. “They would not _willingly_ give away sensitive information.”

Horror crept into Obi-Wan’s heart as he thought the implications over. 

“There is a leak that we are not aware of,” he said numbly.

Count Dooku hummed in agreement. “More than one,” he said. “And they are not, I’m afraid, my agents. I get my information second hand from my master.”

“The Sith Lord,” Cody said.

“Indeed.” The Count began pouring tea into the cups, and set one each in front of Obi-Wan and Cody. “One of my favorite blends. It’s made in Minashee.”

That tiny tidbit of information completely sidetracked Obi-Wan’s reeling brain. He’d never even heard of that planet. Something about that little factoid was important. _How_ , exactly, he wasn’t sure. 

Out of pure reflex, he lifted his cup and inhaled. The tea was pale and smelled of sea water and green, growing things. There was a slight nuttiness to the scent as well. He took a sip. The flavor was as pleasant as the aroma. Mild, and a touch astringent, with more of a grainy note than he was expecting. 

“This is wonderful tea,” he said.

That actually earned him a genuine smile from the Count. “Thank you. I am pleased that you enjoy it.”

Cody was staring at the both of them like they’d lost their damn minds. 

“Would you both mind if we got back to the information leak in the High Council?” Cody said, sounding a bit frustrated. “And also, why in the Sith-hells would you be telling us about it?”

The Count leveled a long suffering look at Cody as he carefully broke his cookie in half. “It’s not as if this is new information, Commander. I told Master Kenobi that his senate was a corrupt body when we met on Geonosis.”

“You mean when the locals held me captive under your orders,” Obi-Wan riposted acidically. “Your motives and bold statements of the senate being corrupt are somewhat suspect under the circumstances. There was also the little matter of you tossing my padawan and a Republic senator into a gladiatorial arena. A member of _your_ lineage, which you seem to be so proud of.”

Dooku’s eyes flashed bright yellow. “And if you’d only _stayed_ in your cell rather than barging your way into said arena, then the galaxy could have been spared a great deal of suffering, _yours included_.” Before Obi-Wan could do more than open his mouth to object, the Count leaned forward and pulled his lips up into a snarl. “Skywalker is both worthy and unworthy. He is a proud, vain, churlish, _stupid_ boy, and I would ignore his offences still because he is your padawan, if not for the fact that he is my lineage twice over.”

 _Twice over?_ Obi-Wan’s thoughts raced.

But the Count wasn’t finished. 

“You begin to see it now, but I fear that you will remain willfully blind, even to this. My Sith Lord master has been cultivating your stupid Anakin for years. My master plans to replace me with him. The bright lure of the Chosen One was too much for even him to resist.”

With that, the Count’s eyes returned to a dark, dull brown color and he settled back into his chair.

“I would have noticed…” Obi-Wan couldn’t finish the sentence. He was too busy trying to think of _who_ could have _possibly_ gotten close enough to Anakin to do such a thing. And it was true, Anakin was… temperamental. Passionate. It was just that he cared so deeply, that was all. “If a Sith Lord had been near him even once, I would have noticed.”

“Search your feelings, grandpadawan. You know it to be true.” The words came out mockingly, and there was a cruel smirk on Dooku’s face. 

“Let’s get back to the Sith Lord,” Cody said, redirecting the flow of conversation. This also managed to give Obi-Wan a moment of respite from the Count’s heavy gaze, and Obi-Wan was grateful for it. “You told General Kenobi back at the start of the war about him?”

“I did, Commander. I told him that the Senate was corrupt, and that a Sith Lord had sway over hundreds of senators. I even told him my master’s name, Darth Sidious.” Dooku took a moment to sip his tea.

“That name is useless, Count,” Obi-Wan said, bringing his focus back to the conversation at hand. He would have to meditate later on Anakin, to see if there was any grain of truth to what the Count was saying. 

“Think, grandpadawan. Who has access to the Jedi High Council? Who has access to your padawan? Who holds sway over the senate?”

Obi-Wan could only think of one person who fit those qualifiers.

“No, it’s not possible,” he whispered. It couldn’t be that the Chancellor was the Sith Lord. That was utterly ridiculous. “The senate dome is within easy speeder distance of the Jedi Temple. We would have felt him!”

“And yet the Force grows dark and clouded on Coruscant, does it not?” Dooku raised an inquiring eyebrow at him. “Why do you suppose that is?”

They sat in silence while Obi-Wan tried to come up with reasons why Dooku would be wrong.

The Chancellor was in constant communication with the Jedi High Council. Nearly all of the strategies and battle plans used in the war went through him at one point or another. More than that, Anakin had been friends with Chancellor Palpatine from the beginning, since Naboo. Obi-Wan had objected -- the idea had felt off to him -- but the High Council had been pressured into it. Obi-Wan _still_ didn’t like Palpatine, though he was hard pressed to pinpoint exactly why that was. 

There were many times that the Chancellor had relayed valuable intelligence for the war. Things that no Jedi Shadow or General had even heard a whisper of. The High Council had assumed that the Chancellor had been using his own spy network. He had to have one, after all. But what if he was simply… comming the Count and asking? Or ordering, since this was the being who was the Count’s master. 

Count Dooku delicately ate one half of his cookie as Obi-Wan mentally calculated all of the possibilities. 

“Are you not going to refresh yourself?” the Count asked Cody pointedly.

“I’m still debating on the possibility of poison,” Cody said with an unimpressed look. 

“We can share. I would be happy to break bread with family.” The Count proceeded to seemingly choose a dish of small finger foods at random and delicately deposited half of it on his own plate. The other half, he offered to Cody.

Cody took it warily. He shot a quick look towards Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan was still thinking over what Dooku had said.

“Just to be clear, you’re saying that Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord. Your master.” Obi-Wan raised both eyebrows and gestured to Count Dooku with his cup of tea.

“I am,” the Count answered, looking utterly unperturbed. “It’s a grave pity, isn’t it? Years ago, when the senate ordered the Jedi to slaughter the mandalorians at Galidraan, we were obedient and many suffered for it. When our error had been discovered, I objected again to the senate’s control over the Order. I was ignored. This sad event repeated itself, over and over again, throughout the years. And still, the High Council refused to admit that their pathetic Republic was failing them, and the galaxy. I warned them that the senate would force the Jedi into an untenable position. Master Sifo-Dyas warned them that the Sith were returning. His master, Lene Kostana _warned them_ that the Sith were returning. _Everyone warned them!_ And _still_ , you sit, blind and ignorant in your untouchable ivory tower.” 

The Count’s words had dropped to a low hiss and he flexed the fingers of one hand as if he wished he could be out strangling someone right now. 

“General…” Cody looked to Obi-Wan for confirmation.

Obi-Wan’s heart was heavy and brittle in his chest. “I’m afraid it’s true, Cody. Galidraan was… an atrocity. And even after Naboo, when my own master had been killed by a Sith, the High Council didn’t believe that they had returned. They’d been gone for a thousand years. It seemed impossible.”

“They didn’t believe the other Jedi? Wasn’t Master Sifo-Dyas the one who commissioned us?” Cody's face had drawn down into a confused frown. 

“He did,” the Count confirmed. “After being kicked off of the High Council for his visions, and was then driven mad. In his desperation, he found… unsavory allies. To my eternal shame, I was one of them.”

The Count bowed his head as emotion seemed to pour off of him. It was so strong that it managed to overcome his suppressants for a moment. Bitter sorrow flavored the air. Hard on its heels was the scent of sour, smouldering anger.

For a moment, Obi-Wan’s heart went out to him. Every one of his alpha instincts screamed that here was a person in distress and in need of protection and comfort. Dooku no longer smelled like an enemy. He smelled like a pack member in distress.

Even stranger was the mild, floral note that underpinned Dooku’s scent, burnt and bitter though it was. Obi-Wan had never smelled another alpha like that. Was the Count a beta? That didn’t make sense at all. The Count was far too demanding. He’d taken control of half the galaxy with his will to dominate; on that reason alone, most of the holonet had decided that he must be an alpha.

Something about this scent nagged at Obi-Wan’s instincts. From the way Cody had dug his fingers into the table and leaned in, he could smell it too. They were both alphas; an unusual, but not unheard of arrangement for a mated pair. This meant that Obi-Wan could see his mate react to those same shared instincts. _Must protect_. 

Neither of them were hormonal adolescents. They knew to control their instincts. 

But the situation itself was _odd_.

Before Obi-Wan could do more than twist his face in confusion at that strange instinctual reaction, the Count took a slow breath and regained control of himself. His scent disappeared again, fading to nearly nothing.

He looked at the table, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but think that there was a hint of resigned disappointment in him despite having no visible expression.

“Come,” the Count said. “I can see that this was a moot effort. There is more for you to see before you make your escape attempt.”

Obi-Wan and Cody shared another totally baffled look. 

Count Dooku didn’t bother waiting for them. He stood up, smoothed his fine clothes back into place, and gestured for them to follow him back through the field. 

More and more, Obi-Wan felt like everything he knew was being turned on its head. He was used to thinking on his feet, but he had no blessed idea of what to make of today.

The two of them stood and followed the Count out of the garden and through several more lavish halls. They passed several more Mandalorian guards stationed around the palace. Several waved or lazily saluted the Count, who nodded at them in return. Two unobtrusively fell in a discreet distance behind them, an honor guard that Obi-Wan was sure could act as a real one in case of need, and followed them as they made their way through the corridors.

After the completely confusing conversation over tea, the Count seemed less inclined to speak to them. Which was worrying. As far as Obi-Wan was aware, Count Dooku was fond of talking. Every interaction they’d had thus far seemed to uphold that. Dooku was very refined in his speech and had always leapt at the opportunity to show off his verbosity. 

“Here,” the Count said finally, as he stopped in front of a heavy blast door. He pressed a code tab into the security panel, and it took a full body scan of him.

The doors opened and Darkness wafted out. 

Obi-Wan was now rather glad that he wore suppression cuffs; it meant that he wouldn’t be feeling the full effects of whatever Sith lair they were walking into. As it was, he could just barely sense the chill in the air. The shadows around the doorway squirmed in his peripheral vision, only to sit perfectly normal and still when he looked directly at them. 

“Well, this looks great,” Cody muttered. 

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan muttered back. 

“Come along, grandpadawan, Commander. There is still much for you to learn.” With that ominous statement, Dooku stepped down into the Dark. The pair of _mando'ad'e_ that had been playing honor guard moved past them to take up sentry positions on either side of the landing just beyond the door and got a fondly exasperated look from the Count for it. Obi-Wan got the impression Dooku thought they were being overprotective and nosy, but he said nothing to them.

Obi-Wan shivered. And then followed.

As soon as he and Cody stepped in past the doorway, the blast door snapped shut behind them, leaving them in near total darkness.

After his eyes adjusted, Obi-Wan could make out softly glowing running lights that lined the stairs.

 _Oh thank the Force, the Count’s sense of melodrama didn’t surpass his desire to not break an ankle._ Obi-Wan couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He tossed a bright smirk at Cody, who just gave him an exasperated look in return. 

Then the two of them got moving, slowly chasing the sound of the Count’s footsteps.

The stairs wound down in a dim spiral. Where they were headed, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell. Their destination was several stories below their starting point, at the very least. They caught up with the Count relatively quickly.

Eventually, the Count spoke again.

“Did you know that I am an omega?” Count Dooku asked.

“ _What?_ ” Obi-Wan was so surprised that he actually stopped moving for a moment, and then had to step quickly to get back into even pace with Cody and the Count.

That made a rather strange amount of sense. The denmaking. The feeding. The scenting. This whole strange, little tour. The emphasis on lineage. An omega would feel incredibly strongly about family, and hospitality was instinctually very important. 

It was just… Dooku was so ruthless. Not that an omega _couldn’t_ be so, it was just that Obi-Wan was having trouble reconciling what he knew about the Count with what he’d just learned.

Or, perhaps it was better to say, what he’d _thought_ that he knew. The Order didn’t place much emphasis on gender or dynamic. Their connection to the Force helped them mitigate the worst of their instinctual behaviors. Obi-Wan had just always assumed that after Dooku Fell, his rampant war mongering and cruel droid execution squads for captured _Vod’e_ were a result of his alpha nature being allowed to run wild, unchecked by sanity or reason.

Clearly, the Count could guess his train of thought. “Tsk, tsk, Master Kenobi. What did I say about making assumptions?” 

Brave, stalwart Cody had already rallied. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising. The _Vod’e_ had an interesting take on secondary genders. They were all trained for war and expected to be soldiers, regardless of dynamic. Any instinctual differences between the secondary genders were ignored during training and in the field, and then accommodated for when they were off duty and not accompanied by non- _Vod’e_. The _Vod’e_ worked in groups to keep each other comfortable. Civilian society as a whole might have preconceived notions about what the secondary genders might be predisposed to do, based on thousands of years of culture and bolstered by instinct. The _Vod’e_ were less hindered by that. They’d created their own ways of dealing with each other.

“As interesting as that piece of information might be,” Cody said, “I’m not sure how it’s relevant.”

The Count huffed in amusement. 

For a very brief, very horrifying moment, Obi-Wan was suddenly struck by the idea that the Count might be due for a heat. 

After all, he now had two alphas chained up and at his mercy, and he was leading them down to who knew what kind of dungeon. It had been known to happen. 

But that was not a method commonly used by the Separatists, now that Obi-Wan thought about it. Pirates were fond of using a being’s dynamic against them, forcing heat or rut by way of chemical injections. The opposite situation happened, as well. Obi-Wan had heard and seen evidence of particularly unsavory beings holding others against their will to be used as unwilling partners for heat or rut. It was rape, and a type frequently found in the slave trade. 

Prior to this moment, Obi-Wan had thought that Dooku would believe such tactics were beneath him. The Count’s dignity was painfully overblown at times. 

Now, chained and suppressed, being led down to a dungeon that reeked of the Dark so powerfully that he could feel it through the cuffs… Obi-Wan could admit to being a bit concerned. 

Down they marched. The Count’s cape swirled in the hall just ahead of them, barely in sight. 

Obi-Wan breathed through his anxieties and centered himself as best he could. He wasn’t alone, and the Count had left him with one of his most formidable weapons intact: his way with words. 

He was not at all prepared for what awaited them at the bottom of the stairs.

The stairway opened out on a large room with a vaulted ceiling. The lights were kept dim, leaving a great deal of the unsettling space veiled in shadow. What little light there was in the room came from a long, illuminated glass case.

Whatever else might have been in that room immediately became secondary in importance. 

The glass case had a person inside of it.

Count Dooku glided silently over to the case, situated along the far wall. His stark features and dark, fine clothing were bathed in blue light, giving him an eerie, ghost-like appearance. 

He placed one hand on the top of the glass case.

“Hello, my dear,” he said quietly. _To the person in the case_. “I’ve brought visitors.”

Obi-Wan blinked hard. Then he shot a quick look at Cody, who had glanced at him at precisely the same time. They didn’t need words to express how they both were feeling the exact same thing. 

_What_ the _kriff_.

“Come have a seat, grandpadawan, Commander,” the Count called out to them. He, thankfully, stepped away from the case and gestured towards a nearby table. It was close enough to the case that they would have a very comfortable view of it.

Obi-Wan definitely had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, more information was better, and the closer they were, the more of a chance he would have to study the equipment surrounding the case. If that was a person that needed saving, Obi-Wan wanted to know.

On the other hand, this whole set up was profoundly disturbing. Obi-Wan felt like his skin was going to crawl right off of his body. He wanted to say that was just the oppressive feel of the Dark side of the Force around him, but it could have just been plain old dread of whatever he was walking into.

For lack of any better option, Obi-Wan and Cody exchanged another look, and then made their way over to the Count.

As they approached, Obi-Wan took note of the being in the case. Probably male. Human, or near-human. He was dressed in Jedi robes, which was a very concerning detail. There was no saber at his side. He appeared to be a little more than middle aged, with long, neatly combed dark hair and laugh lines around his eyes. 

He also wasn’t breathing. From the frost that curled lightly at the edges of the case, Obi-Wan suspected some type of cryo technology.

“Who is your guest?” Obi-Wan asked, keeping a tight rein on his emotions. For all that the Count had appeared to be polite, and even pleasantly cordial, he was still a Sith Lord. Obi-Wan could and would press his luck, but now was not the time. 

Count Dooku settled himself in his seat. He was positioned in such a way that his back was to the wall, with the case on one side, and with the chairs that Obi-Wan and Cody were obviously intended to occupy stationed across from him. It was almost as if the cryo-case was seated at the table too. Almost. It was placed a touch too far away for that, but only barely.

Several items were neatly placed on the table that the chairs were clustered around. There were data chips and stacks of flimsi. There was also something that looked like a blaster; it was a custom build. Cody eyed it as they sat down.

“This is… was… Master Sifo-Dyas,” the Count said, gesturing at the case. 

Obi-Wan shot the being in the case another look. He’d never met the old master, so he couldn’t say for sure. It stood to reason that the Count had no reason to lie.

“Is he dead?” Obi-Wan had to ask. As far as the Order knew, he’d died on a mission over a decade ago. Likely just after he’d commissioned the clones.

“Yes.” The word came out in a low, pained rumble. 

“... Is there a reason that you have a dead body in your basement?” Cody asked. 

The Count turned a cold, disapproving look on Cody. “Extenuating circumstances though there are, that was quite rude, Commander.”

Cody gave the Count a flat look. “You are an enemy officer known for executing captives, and who has ambushed and kidnapped myself, my general, and our troops.”

Count Dooku raised an eyebrow at him. “And I have been nothing but a gracious host.”

“That is true,” Obi-Wan interjected, before Cody could start snarling. “You have been… uncommonly hospitable. But however the question came across, Commander Cody has an excellent point. Why do you have the body of Master Sifo-Dyas? And why keep him like… this?”

Jedi typically burned their dead. The body was just a shell, a vessel for the Force, after all. Burning it was symbolic. To see a Jedi entombed like this… almost on display. It made Obi-Wan’s stomach turn.

Count Dooku sighed at him and settled in his chair. “Because he was my bonded mate, my alpha.”

Obi-Wan felt his jaw drop. Cody was in a similar predicament. 

“He-- What?” Obi-Wan was struggling to wrap his mind around that. 

It wasn’t the mate part; while that wasn’t necessarily common in the Order, it certainly happened. The thing Obi-Wan couldn’t quite grasp was that _Count Dooku_ had once been in a bonded relationship. He’d willingly called someone else _his alpha_.

The Count pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. When he looked up at them again, his face was lined with weariness and there was a bitter twist to his lips. 

“I can convince the Jedi Order of _nothing_ without _ridiculous_ amounts of evidence. I have brought you here so that you can understand, and perhaps have time to save some portion of your dying breed.” The Count spoke as if the words themselves pained him.

There was a long, heavy pause as the Count looked at the corpse of Master Sifo-Dyas. His mate. 

Force, Obi-Wan couldn’t imagine a situation where he himself might attempt something like this. _Death, yet the Force_. If Cody were to die, Obi-Wan would mourn. Something inside of him would surely break. But he would mend, eventually, and continue to serve the Force as it willed him to. 

He hoped. 

But this… this terrifying pining and sorrow… 

Obi-Wan didn’t particularly like the Count. Especially with all that he’d done, to the _Vod’e_ , to the Republic. Even knowing that, he didn’t have it in him to refuse Dooku this last bit of solace.

“Tell me,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ll listen this time. I promise.”

Dooku’s gaze snapped towards him.

“He does keep his promises, Count,” Cody said after a moment. 

A great swell of fondness rose in Obi-Wan at that. Despite his own misgivings about whatever the Count had planned for them, Cody was backing his play. Not that Obi-Wan had expected anything different. And the words were a kindness, reassurance offered to an enemy. 

This was another reason that Obi-Wan loved him.

Count Dooku’s eyes seemed to shine for a moment, and he swallowed sharply. 

“Sy and I bonded many years ago, when we were knights,” the Count began. _Oh my, this is going to be a long story, then_. “After Galidraan…” The Count glanced down towards the table and pursed his lips. He shook his head. “I had objections. Issues that I’d raised with the High Council. I even joined their number, for a time. It didn’t help. I grew resentful.”

“Issues?” Cody asked.

For a moment, Dooku looked surprised, as if he wasn’t truly expecting an interactive audience. 

“The Senate holds too much control over the Jedi Order,” the Count explained. “Prior to the fall of the Old Republic, the Jedi held a significantly more militaristic role in Republic life. The Order was a peace keeping force, yes, but they also fielded armies and could, and did, hold a great deal of political power. The era of the Old Republic was rife with conflict. Wars savaged the galaxy, causing annihilation on an unprecedented scale. With the Ruusan Reformation, the Jedi Order maintained their position as peacekeepers, diplomats, and elite special forces, but lost their ability to hold political power. The Order gets no say in what the Senate tells them to do. A fact that I am sure you both are very intimately aware of.”

The Count raised a sardonic eyebrow at them.

Obi-Wan nodded along. “The Jedi-Sith wars were terrible things,” he said. “After the last Sith was killed--” Predictably, Count Dooku quietly snorted in amusement at that, “-- the Jedi stepped back from being an active part of the military. It was the wisest course of action. The galaxy had seen what could come of Force wielders who also held ruling positions in the galactic government.”

“The problem with that change, is that the Senate is terribly corrupt,” the Count interjected. “They have repeatedly used the Order for a variety of unsavory tasks, not limited to planetary annihilation.” 

Obi-wan grimaced, and nodded. “The Order does a great deal of good in the galaxy. We have brought peace and eased suffering and fought wrong doing throughout the galaxy. But we, and the Republic we serve, aren’t perfect.”

He and Cody shared a grim look. They needed only consider the war with the Separatists to have a perfect example of the Jedi Order being strong armed into a situation that they didn’t agree with.

The Count merely nodded at them, and continued his tale. “In time, the Order became complacent. They hadn’t _found_ any Sith, so surely there weren’t any,” he said with a sneer. Obi-Wan could tell that it wasn’t directed at him. “My mate… Master Sifo-Dyas, was very gifted in foresight. _Gifted_. It was a curse. His visions were terrible things, made worse by the fact that the High Council didn’t bother acting on most of them. Over and over, he and I tried to make them see reason--”

“The future is always in motion, Count,” Obi-Wan interjected. “You know this as well as I do.”

The Count’s eyes blazed bright, poisonous yellow and his lips twisted into a snarl. “The Force sends us warnings for a _reason!_ Or have you never had a vision, a _feeling_ that warned you about an event that would cause misery that you have the power to prevent?”

Dooku’s rage was a palpable thing. The shadows that lingered in the room seemed to stretch towards them, pressing down on them like a high gravity field. Dooku’s faint scent of tea and cinders was back, now acidic with fury. The sharply bitter rage carried the sour undertone of pain and sorrow.

Obi-Wan’s instincts were at war. An alpha would instinctively want to protect an omega, even one not in their pack. The scent of an omega provoked to rage made him want to find the source of the problem and _stop it_. At the same time, the Count was _dangerous_ , and Obi-Wan knew that down to his bones. The urge to protect himself and his mate was just as overpowering. 

Jedi were not ruled by their instincts. Obi-Wan took a slow breath and kept his calm. He tried to let that fill his own scent, and reflexively let out a short, subvocal rumble. That sound, he bit off as quickly as it had appeared. It was a soothing sound, or it was supposed to be.

As he’d feared, the Count didn’t take it that way. He snarled at them and leaned in, tense and ready for a fight. Something of Obi-Wan’s reaction must have struck a chord anyways. The Count’s eyes were drawn down more in confusion than anger, and his scent carried notes of surprise.

Perhaps if Obi-Wan were a Sith Lord, and used to no one and nothing caring for him, he might have been surprised as well by someone purring soothingly at him.

Cody -- brilliant, wonderful, competent, Cody -- kept tight control of his own scent and reactions. The only sign that he was as affected as Obi-Wan was in how he’d pressed their arms together and how his hands had tightened up into fists. The _Vod’e_ , more than most other beings that Obi-Wan had ever met, had an innate drive to protect. Obi-Wan had often wondered if that was a result of the genetic modification or if it was a side effect of their culture and upbringing. Either way, Cody was clearly feeling the urge to do something.

A few seconds ticked by. Obi-Wan kept his scent calm and soothing. Now was not the time to enrage his host. Not while they were making some kind of progress.

Some of the anger flowed out of the Count and was replaced with dark, almost feral suspicion. 

Obi-Wan gave him another moment and then said, “Forgive me, Count. I promised I would listen. Please, continue.”

That seemed to help the Count rein in his temper.

It took more than a minute or two for the darkness to fully recede, for the soft blue glow from Master Sifo-Dyas’ coffin to spread across the room once again. The Count eyed them both warily as he rubbed the fingers of one hand together. He was skilled in throwing Force lightning; Obi-Wan had no desire to see that particular ability in action again.

The Count switched his attention to Cody. “How would you feel, Commander, if you had intelligence that thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people would die, and yet your superior officers refused to acknowledge that intelligence?”

“... Point taken, Count,” Cody said quietly. 

Dooku nodded. The last bit of sulfur yellow vanished from his eyes and his shoulders relaxed into a less tense pose. 

“Master Sifo-Dyas saw the war we are in now, years and years ago. He knew that the Sith would raise an army, and that the Republic would fall,” the Count explained. “That was why he commissioned you all. The Order likely knows this. After all, the High Council kicked him out of his chair with them when his visions grew too intense. They called him mad. Jedi, leading armies? Preposterous.” That last word was said with a sneer.

Obi-Wan desperately wanted to ask if Master Sifo-Dyas foresaw that his mate would be leading armies of droids against them. Asking that would likely just be inviting another explosion of temper, so he held his peace.

“What the Council, and indeed, Master Sifo-Dyas didn’t know was that his visions had been… tampered with.” Now the Count’s expression grew sorrowful, even shamefaced. That sour pained scent became noticeable again. “In the few years before Sy’s death, I had distanced myself from the Order, and made the acquaintance of several individuals with contradictory views of the Force. We spoke of many things, including visions and the nature of war.”

He bowed his head, and his hands tightened into fists. 

It was so clear to Obi-Wan now that the Count had been telling them the truth about being an omega. Those slightly sweet, unusual notes in his scent were obviously a sign of his designation. Now that it had been identified, Obi-Wan could clearly pick it out. 

Maybe it was a very good thing that the Count usually stayed utterly scent suppressed, because the scent of distressed omega was making Obi-Wan’s instincts scream in the back of his head.

The Count just smelled so _sad_. The heartbreak was crushing. Which was more than a bit confusing, because this man was Obi-Wan’s enemy. He was a Sith Lord. He destroyed lives and executed each and every captured _vod_.

But Obi-Wan was a Jedi, in addition to being an alpha. They strove to find compassion for all beings, even those who others might think least deserved it. 

When the Count spoke again, it was in a whisper. “I’d thought that if Sy’s visions were terrible enough, then the Council would have to believe him. No, I didn’t force the horrors on him myself, but I saw that it was happening. Sy came to me, terrified and desperate to save the Order. Our family, despite how we’d both been spat upon by them. Upon the urging of my new friends, I gave him the idea of a clone army. After all, what better way to teach the Jedi that they _could_ and _would_ be forced to do whatever dirty deed the Senate demanded of them than by rubbing their noses right in it? Then they would be forced to act to follow the will of the Force.”

Oh, this story was not going well. That unsteady feeling in Obi-Wan’s stomach increased as horror clawed up his spine. 

“I had not yet Fallen then, but it was close,” the Count said in a harsh whisper. His scent was heavy with _sad-hurt-shame_. “I almost never saw Sy. When he wasn’t sent on pointless missions ordered by the High Council to keep him out of trouble, he was planning how to save them all. The few times we’d even spoken, it was over comms. He was… distraught. Desperate. I assured him that all would be well. He would be able to give the Jedi Order the tools they would need not only to survive, but to shine a light on the obvious corruption of the Senate.”

If Cody had a reaction to the clones being called tools, then he didn’t show it. Both of them were tense, focused on whatever awful thing the Count was about to admit to. 

“And the Senate was corrupt. I knew it because of my new _friends_ ,” the Count sneered, “my master-to-be, was a senator himself. He knew all of the Order’s flaws, and had so carefully, craftily positioned himself to take advantage of every loophole and faithless bureaucrat in the Republic. He could make laws, influence funding, create or demolish worlds. And the Jedi knew _nothing_ of him. Surely, he would be the better master? Surely, he knew that which the Order had failed to see?”

The Count's words had grown low and frantic. He wasn’t even really seeing them any more, Obi-Wan was certain of it. Part of Obi-Wan wanted to reach out to try and help, somehow. He knew that he couldn’t. Whatever misery the Count was in, he’d brought it on himself, and he couldn’t be trusted enough for the intimacy of a comforting embrace. No matter what his scent pleaded for. 

“And then Qui-Gon was killed. By a Sith. My master’s old apprentice killed my former padawan.”

Obi-Wan flinched at the Count’s words. He couldn’t help but think of the look on Master Qui-Gon’s face when he’d been stabbed through the chest.

“The damned High Council wouldn’t even believe the Sith had returned when one of their own was publicly murdered by one,” the Count said, sounding numb. “I left them. I should have taken you with me, but I knew then that you would never join me.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say, so he kept silent. He’d no idea that Dooku had even cared. 

“The clones were commissioned. I wanted Sy out of the Order, too. Those fools had only caused him misery,” Dooku continued quietly. “I arranged an extraction with my new master. It was supposed to look violent. Sy would have never left the Order if he thought that they needed him… but once he’d commissioned the army, they would have confined him. They already thought he was teetering close to true insanity.”

The Count stared at the table between them, obviously looking back into his memories rather than anything actually in the room. His despair was chokingly thick in the air. The sheer hopelessness of it was physically painful. It stung Obi-Wan’s nose and made his neck crawl and his jaw clench. 

_There is nothing I can do to fix this_ , he reminded himself. _It happened long ago, and it was terribly misguided anyways. The Count shouldn’t have done any of this._

“So you accidentally killed him,” Cody said quietly after it had become obvious that the Count wouldn’t continue on his own.

To Obi-Wan’s surprise, the Count didn’t react with rage or upset. He took a large breath in, straightened in his seat, and locked eyes with Cody.

“No,” he said simply. “No, my master ordered Sy to be killed, and then presented his body to me. As a gift, he’d said.”

Obi-Wan was struck dumb with horror.

The pain and the shame and the bone crushing sorrow in the Count’s scent smouldered and turned harsh. His eyes lit up and his lips curled into something halfway between a smile and a baring of teeth.

“The mating bond was a chain, he explained to me. An attachment to an Order I no longer believed in, and a stone about my neck. I would only be free once it was gone.” The Count’s voice turned deadly quiet, and he radiated murderous intent. 

“That makes absolutely no karking sense,” Cody said, shocked. “If he was your master and he was trying to win you over, why in the Sith-hells would do something that would obviously alienate you?”

“So says a fine, upstanding _vod_ , mate to a Jedi Master,” the Count said with a sneer that probably wasn’t intentional. “But we are Sith, and betrayal is our way. Sy’s death was the catalyst for my Fall, as Sidious had hoped. My suffering and rage were only eclipsed by my self-hatred, for I had helped bring about Sy’s death with my own _stupid_ actions. These feed the Dark side of the Force. With my Fall, he had cemented my place at his side as his apprentice.”

“Even knowing that you would hate him,” Obi-Wan said, feeling sick and resigned.

The Count snorted. “That was a perk. Hate feeds the Sith. He knew that I would plan for his destruction, after that. This, too, is the way of the Sith.” Now the Count smiled, wide and terrifying. “But he did not guess that I would do the _one thing_ that would have been anathema to the person I was at that moment. I decided to save the Order, and undermine every single one of Sidious’ plans from that moment on.”

“What.” Now Obi-Wan was back to being confused. 

The Count looked at him patiently, though his eyes were just a little too wide to appear fully sane. “My master assumed that I would continue to study the Dark side of the Force, and become a Sith, and eventually plan to kill him and take my place as emperor of the galaxy. I decided instead to continue to study the Dark, become a Sith, and plan to destroy him by saving the very people he hated most. The Jedi.” His smile turned bitter-sweet. “My family. Whom I should have been protecting from the beginning.”

How the flaming Sith-hells Dooku had gone from that decision a dozen years ago to leading the CIS _now_ and executing clones, Obi-Wan could not figure out. 

The Count turned his attention to the flimsi and datachips that were neatly placed on the table in front of him. “These contain recordings and records. Personal correspondence, testimony, and a very detailed map of financial transactions, showing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Chancellor Palpatine is, in fact, Darth Sidious, and that _he_ is the one that engineered the current war, not to mention the deaths of millions over the years. There are very thorough copies of his plans for the future, as well as a list of holdings and funds. The information is as complete as I could make it, and it was _extremely difficult_ to acquire. I have only recently obtained the last, vital piece. He’s become less cautious, now that his plan is so very close to coming to fruition.”

Then Count Dooku pushed the whole pile across the table to Obi-Wan and Cody.

They stared at it.

“What?” Cody said, perfectly encapsulating exactly what Obi-Wan was thinking.

“Here it is. All the evidence that you need to justifiably arrest and likely execute Darth Sidious, also known as Chancellor Palpatine.” The Count gave them a sharp, viciously smug grin.

Obi-Wan looked down at the pile of material in front of them. Then glanced at Cody. Cody was still sitting there agape. 

“Why are you giving this to us?” Obi-Wan finally asked.

“You are my grandpadawan, and more than that, you are a _good_ and _honorable_ being. You are so entrenched in the Light that I do not think any Darkness could shake it from you.” The Count’s expression softened, and his scent mellowed into something less disturbing, before it disappeared entirely again. “Qui-Gon was so proud of you, you must know that. You were the best that he’d ever had the joy of training with, and likely the best Jedi in the lineage. I would say _certainly_ the best, but I have heard good things about your grandpadawan.”

Of all the things that Count Dooku could have told him, this was the last thing that Obi-Wan had expected. 

It was likely just empty flattery. And yet... It didn’t sound like it. He could tell the Count meant it. Despite himself, Obi-Wan’s heart clenched a little.

“Why should we believe you?” Cody asked. “This could easily be fabricated.”

The Count snorted again. “Not _easily_ , but yes, I suppose so. Truthfully, I expect you both to follow the fine example that the rest of the Order has set,” he said with a familiar sneer. “I expect you both to believe nothing, despite my extensive efforts to show you the truth. But you are both diligent, clever people. You will look into the possibility regardless, and then you will discover for yourself the trap the Order and the Republic have fallen into.” 

While Obi-Wan was still processing that, the Count shrugged, and added, “Besides. I have a back up plan.”

“Wait, go back,” Obi-Wan said. “Why would the Chancellor of the Republic incite a war?”

“For power, of course,” Dooku said, amused. “You must have noticed how his emergency powers have grown and grown, and his term in office has become indefinite.”

“Which will end once the war does,” Obi-Wan said. That was what everyone had taken for fact. He and the rest of the High Council had their doubts, but kept them quiet. They had few enough allies as it was without gaining the Chancellor’s ire. 

“No, my dear grandpadawan.” The Count’s smile turned sinister again. “Did you miss the part where I’d said that we, the Sith were aware of the clone army right from the beginning?”

That incredibly bad feeling was back in Obi-Wan’s gut. “What did you do, Count?” he whispered.

“Under the orders of my master, I impersonated Master Sifo-Dyas and completed the final touches on the commission contract.” The Count’s voice was low and raspy and _terrifying_. His smile was filled with bloody satisfaction. Every instinct Obi-Wan had was screaming _predator-here!!!_ “You see, one of Sy’s visions was about the clone army turning on their Jedi generals. In a fit of wild Dark-inspired fear, he requested that control chips be added to every _vod_ , implanted right in their brains while they were still growing in their tubes.”

The Count tapped the side of his temple and grinned.

Cody was stiff as a board next to Obi-Wan, and his scent spiked with fear and horror. Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate to take hold of his hand and rub the scent glands on their wrists together, as best he could given the cuffs. 

“That can’t be true,” Cody whispered with dread.

“But it is, Commander. The chips were designed to appear as small, organic tumors, and do not react to most medical scans. Here is what they look like.” 

With that, the Count picked up a small vial that was partially buried under the datachips on the table. Inside was a flat control chip, barely the size of Obi-Wan’s thumbnail. He handed it to Cody, who just stared at it.

“The chips are not currently active,” the Count said. “Encoded on each one is a list of command codes. When activated, it acts as a partial mind wipe, and forces the _vod_ it is implanted into follow the order given in the command code. There are orders ranging from ‘execute self’ to ‘all Jedi are traitors and must be killed’. Master Sifo-Dyas had only one command encoded onto the chips. ‘Stand down’. My master felt that was inadequate, and had me add the rest. The war will end in a blaze of glory, and at it’s finale, Chancellor Palpatine will declare the Jedi Order traitors, mind wipe every, single _vod_ with a word, and then order them to kill you all. It will be very quick.”

Obi-Wan was going to be sick. He wished he had access to the Force to see if the Count’s words rang true. 

They _sounded_ true. Horribly, awfully, true. But this _could not be_.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “That’s not. That’s not possible. Someone would have found these chips.”

“If discovered, the Kaminoans will explain that they are benign, and were implanted to decrease natural aggression.” The Count shrugged.

“This is why you execute all the _vod’e_ you capture.” Cody sounded like his heart was breaking, and his scent was just as pained as the Count’s had been earlier. Obi-Wan squeezed his hand tight.

Again, the Count shocked them.

He _laughed_. 

“How karking _dare you_ \--” Cody started, pushing himself up to standing and leaning over the table to snarl right in Dooku’s face. 

“Calm yourself, Commander,” the Count said sharply. He rolled his eyes and waved his hand, and Cody was invisibly shoved back down into his chair. “Your _vod’e_ aren’t dead.”

It took a moment for that to sink in.

Obi-Wan said, “That’s not--” right at the same moment that Cody said, “ _What?!_ ”

The Count waved them silent. “Your _vod’e_ aren’t dead, Commander.” He picked up the unusual custom made blaster on the table. “This device doesn’t shoot blaster bolts. It emits a short range, concentrated electrical charge, specifically designed to deactivate the control chips in a _vod_ ’s head. Since the war has begun, I have ordered my droid armies to use stun shots only, and to collect all stunned _vod’e_ , and zap them with this. Or a device like it. They have evolved over time.” He rolled his eyes and half-shrugged, dismissing the relevance of that tidbit of information. “The shock is unpleasant, and generally knocks the _vod_ out for a couple of hours. They have the worst hangover of their lives for a day or two. Then I take them, and free them.”

The shock rolling of both Obi-Wan and Cody had to be a tangible thing for the Count. He grinned again, this time looking weirdly boyish and mischievous rather than his usual homicidal expression. 

“It, perhaps, would have been easier just to change the chip’s programming, but I had to appear to faithfully follow my master’s every command,” the Count explained. “So I made the requested additions with no alterations, and had my scientists build a direct counter to the chips.” He gestured at the modified blaster. “The ‘executions’ are just a dramatic use of these deactivation devices, to help the freed _vod’e_ disappear. No one looks for a dead man.”

“You freed them,” Obi-Wan repeated, just to make sure that he was getting this right.

“I did.” For the first time in Obi-Wan’s limited experience, the Count looked genuinely happy. “Some relocated to distant planets to start new lives that had nothing to do with fighting. Many wanted to stay and fight, to free the rest of their siblings. I refused to allow them on the front lines, for multiple reasons. Some have decided to stay on here at my castle as guards. The rest have been assigned other tasks. We had to be cautious, of course. Sidious could never know how terribly his plans had gone awry. So the _vod’e_ were all instructed to keep a low profile.”

“The Mandalorians. Spitfire,” Cody said as he audibly connected the dots.

The Count nodded. “Indeed. You are all Mandalorian by blood. It seemed fitting that I find _beskar_ for the freed _vod’e_ to wear. I believe that Spitfire was even once a member of your 212th battalion.”

It was impossible for Obi-Wan or Cody to remember the name of every _vod_ that had been lost in the war, so it was no wonder that they hadn’t recognized the name. 

Still. This was too much to hope for.

The Count sat back in his chair. His smile gentled into something small and indulgent. “I, of course, do not expect you to believe this, either. Which is why when you leave here, you will be taking this device with you, to study it. Every _vod_ in your battalion is being treated now. None of them will lose themselves or their autonomy. This is my gift to you. Congratulations on your mating bond.”

Obi-Wan put elbows on the table and rubbed his face in his hands. This… this was just _not possible_. He could smell the same wash of _confusion-upset-shock-disbelief_ radiating off of Cody as well. 

“You, Commander Cody, will have to undergo this procedure yourself, to deactivate your chip. I suspect that would prefer to have your own medic have the honors. And I do apologize for the rough method required to gather you and your people and bring you all here,” the Count said. He didn’t sound even a little sorry, Obi-Wan thought with sudden pettiness. “And the cuffs as well. I needed to make sure that you sat still long enough to get the relevant information before making your escape.”

As Obi-Wan was shifting to look up at him, the Count waved his hand, and their cuffs and chains fell off of them.

The Force flooded into Obi-Wan’s senses. This was not necessarily a pleasant experience. It was overwhelming, like staring into the surface of a star after having been blindfolded. The effect was made worse by how _karking Dark_ the room around them felt. A sudden chill shivered up Obi-Wan’s spine and goosebumps prickled at his skin.

He took a long, slow breath in and out to steady himself. 

As unpleasant as it was, he’d be in this sort of situation before. The transition was actually a bit easier than he expected, likely thanks to the quality of the suppressor cuffs that he’d been wearing. 

“Obi-Wan?” Cody asked.

That was when he realized that he’d closed his eyes. He straightened in his chair. “I’m alright, Cod--AHH!”

Obi-Wan flinched hard enough that his chair started. There was a ghost next to them, sitting on the glass case!

It was Master Sifo-Dyas, sitting cross legged on the lid of his own coffin. His whole body seemed to be made of softly glowing blue light, and there was a mischievous smile on his face.

“ _Hello, Master Kenobi_ ,” the ghost said with a little bow.

Obi-Wan gaped at him.

“General, I’m gonna need you to talk to me here,” Cody said quietly.

Obi-Wan blinked hard. He stretched out his senses, and encountered the strangest feeling of cold-warm, Light-Dark. He furrowed his brow.

Before Cody could worry more, Obi-Wan waved a hand at him. “I’m alright, Cody. Just… surprised. There’s a-- a ghost here.” When Master Sifo-Dyas’ smile grew more amused, Obi-Wan added, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Sifo-Dyas.”

“ _The pleasure is mine_ ,” Master Sifo-Dyas said.

“Can I ask _how the hell_?” Obi-Wan was fascinated. 

Master Sifo-Dyas pressed his lips together and folded his hands on his lap. “ _Hmmm. Well. It’s… complicated. I’m a bit stuck?_ ”

“You’re supposed to rejoin the Force,” Obi-Wan said incredulously. 

The Count winced. “My master’s master, Darth Plagueis, spent most of his life studying ways to cheat death. After my Fall, I researched them extensively. I never reached his mastery, and I was unwilling to do the more…” He grimaced. “The more horrifying rituals. I wanted my mate back. Not a parody of animated flesh.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach turned. He couldn’t help the disgusted look that came across his face.

“ _It’s not as bad as you’re thinking, Master Kenobi_ ,” Master Sifo-Dyas said with a dismissive wave. “ _I was already here. A powerful Jedi Master can merge with the Force and maintain some of their individuality. With time and practice, they can become visible to other Force sensitives. I hadn’t had that skill yet, but I was here, waiting and watching my beloved. The ritual he ended up succeeding at helped focus my presence on this plane._ ”

“Hmmm. And it also accidentally bound you to this room,” the Count added unhappily. 

Master Sifo-Dyas shrugged. “ _There are worse things_.”

“...So. Ghost?” Cody said, glancing back and forth between Obi-Wan, the Count, and the coffin.

“Ghost,” Obi-Wan said firmly. 

“Right. Sure. Why not.” Cody pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You have all the information now, grandpadawan,” the Count said, dragging Obi-Wan’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Now you have a choice. Believe me. Stay for a day or two, and help me plan how to save the rest of the _vod’e_. I already have had most of the GAR’s chips deactivated,” And how the _kriff_ had he managed, that, Obi-Wan would have liked to know, “but there are some pockets that remain, and there are the cadets on Kamino to worry about as well. I don’t want to make an overt move against Sidious until they are taken care of.” He mused on that for a moment before turning his focus back to Obi-Wan. “Or you two can decide that I am untrustworthy. Which would be fair. I am Sith, and I have done many, many terrible things. You could kill me here and make your escape. It would be a great coup. I will not stop you.”

To emphasize the point, the Count took his ‘saber off of the hook on his waist and set it on the table in front of him.

Something deep within Obi-Wan was revolted at the idea of killing anyone, even an enemy, when they were unwilling to fight back.

“My death would put a wrench in Sidious’ plans,” the Count continued, as if he wasn’t here discussing his own suicide-by-Jedi. “The war would stall as the CIS scrambled for a new military leader. I’ve already sent Asajj off to assassinate his cronies that are embedded in the Separatist movement. The CIS has legitimate complaints against the Republic. Those who are left after Asajj is finished would continue on working for a government free of corruption, both within and without. While the war is put on hold, you two could go discuss your findings with the High Council, and _hopefully_ reach some type of resolution about Sidious. The freed _vod’e_ are already working in secret to get their GAR siblings de-chipped.”

How they were doing _that_ , Obi-Wan would dearly like to know.

Dooku suddenly laughed again, and said, “If you kill me, I win. If you don’t, I win. The situation simply resolves a little faster if I stay alive.”

“ _You’re ridiculous, Doo_ ,” Master Sifo-Dyas said.

“I’m brilliant,” the Count shot back with a smirk. Cody followed the half of the exchange that he could hear with a little frown.

“If we kill you, aren’t you worried about who would take your place as ruler of Serenno?” Obi-Wan asked. That wasn’t even close to the only sticking point in this whole ridiculous fiasco, but it was the first one that he thought of.

“Of course not. I expect that my heir will do a significantly much better job of ruling than I ever have.” The Count shrugged.

For whatever reason, Master Sifo-Dyas started snickering.

 _Well, that bodes well_.

“Ventress?” Cody raised his eyebrow in disbelief.

The Count snorted. “No. She has no interest in ruling Serenno. Once Sidious is dead, she plans to retake Ratatak, and wipe out the slavers there. Funds and equipment have already been set aside for this, whenever she decides it’s time.”

“Then who is your heir?” Obi-Wan dreaded the answer.

“You are, Master Kenobi.” The Count grinned at him. As did Master Sifo-Dyas. 

Obi-Wan sat there for a very long moment. His mind felt like it had gone completely blank, while also running at hyperspeed. 

“I refuse,” he said finally.

“Mmmm. Good luck finding the paperwork for it.” The Count’s smile grew more pointed. 

“No. No, you cannot _force_ someone to be your heir--” Obi-Wan began.

The Count raised simply raised an eyebrow at him and gave him an innocent, questioning look. “Oh?” he said lightly.

That… That _bastard_.

A dozen different ways that the Count could do exactly that started to bubble to mind. There was the paperwork aspect. That would be tricky to get around, if the Count had obfuscated it, especially since all of this would be done here on Serenno, where Obi-Wan had no allies. 

Possibilities played out in Obi-Wan’s mind like moves on a dejarik board. He _could_ find a way to wiggle out of being the new Count of Serenno. It might take some doing, but he would be able to manage it. The problem was that it would likely be extraordinarily unwise to do so. The advantages to him, to the Order, and within the CIS would be too useful to ignore. Even the High Council would advise him to keep the position, likely just putting him on sabbatical rather than actually kicking him out of the Order. Sure, _eventually_ he would be able to find someone to safely abdicate to, but he wouldn’t neglect his rule in that time. It would be beyond irresponsible. Lives depended on having someone sane, competent, and, at the very least, marginally moral person in charge.

 _Oh, Sith-hells_. 

He would be obliged to find someone who _could_ rule wisely, before he could rid himself of the trouble of it. It was the right thing to do. 

His mouth opened and closed as he floundered through his outrage at being so well caught. 

Master Sifo-Dyas started snickering again.

“You…” Obi-Wan stopped and ground his teeth for a moment. Then he rubbed his mouth with one hand and took a slow breath. “You.”

“Yes.” The Count was far, far too smug.

Obi-Wan glared at him.

Cody raised an eyebrow at the whole affair. 

“If we don’t kill you, then you can’t shove the throne off onto me.” Words Obi-Wan never thought he’d say, but here they were.

“This is true. I haven’t announced it yet. There is still time yet to convince me to choose someone else.” The Count gave them a long look. “I don’t think you will. You are the perfect choice. You are powerful, with the Force and with your physical abilities and mental prowess. You think tactically, and are a renowned diplomat. You are _just_.” Now the Count’s stare grew withering. “Even if you do have questionable taste in padawans. Though I suppose that much of Skywalker’s idiocy can be blamed on Sidious whispering poison into his ears for the last decade.”

That was another problem. Force, Obi-Wan was torn between puffing up in offence at the insult to Anakin, and quietly freaking out over the possibility that a _Sith Lord_ had had unrestricted access to his padawan for _years_.

While Obi-Wan was still working that out, Cody jumped in. “You said there are freed _vod’e_ here. Spitfire and the others. I want to talk to them.”

The Count shrugged. “Of course. Those that are not on shift are likely already in medical with your troops. They were worried.”

“And you _cared_?” Cody snapped. He smelled more confused than actually angry.

Obi-Wan didn’t blame him. 

The Count’s expression did something complicated as several emotions flew across his features before settling into gentle resignation. “They deserve a better pack mate than me,” he said quietly. 

“But you still take care of them,” Obi-Wan observed. 

He could see it, now that the whole story had been laid out. When looked at in a different light, so many events shifted to acquire new meaning. 

Dooku hadn’t been seeking to bring the galaxy under his thumb like a rampaging alpha might. He’d been gathering systems to him to protect them. The idea was weirdly reminiscent of a large mother bird dragging errant chicks into the shelter of her wings. Obi-Wan could see an omega’s need to protect pack and family in the Count’s actions now.

The lightning quick attacks on undefended systems and vicious military retaliations were either defensive or preemptive. This was the piece to the Count’s strategy that Obi-Wan had been missing for months now. When looked at a small scale, all of the Count’s decisions on what to attack or defend and where made sense. But in the larger scheme, Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to see any real reason to it. There was no end goal that he could discern. The pattern of the war as a whole only seemed intent on dragging the conflict out. 

Now he knew why.

Count Dooku had been playing a game against _Sidious_ , as well as the GAR, with larger stakes than just the future of the CIS. 

The Count was collecting the _vod’e_ and giving them homes and jobs. Not just that, he gave them purpose and a way to free their family. He gave them _beskar_ , which was so ridiculously expensive that Obi-Wan didn’t even want to think of what it would cost to equip every GAR casualty with a full set. 

He’d worked to protect the Order from themselves, in his own twisted, backwards way. 

“You’ve Fallen.” Obi-Wan had to state that one last fact, one piece of the puzzle that still didn’t quite fit.

“Yes. I am Sith. I have no moral high ground, and I have done… terrible things, in fits of rage.” The Count gestured at Master Sifo-Dyas’ coffin. Or perhaps the ghost. “And I did many terrible things as I ingratiated myself to my master. I learned all he had to teach me, in every sense, so that I could most fully bring about his destruction.”

Obi-Wan hesitated. 

“Master Kenobi. I am not asking you to trust me. I’m asking you if you can help me save our family.” The Count looked at him earnestly. 

Now that Obi-Wan had unfettered access to the Force, he could feel how this statement rang true. It felt _right_. 

The Count was correct. They didn’t have to trust each other. All Obi-Wan had to do was trust in the Force. And right now, the Force was singing with hope, even in this Dark place. 

And perhaps… perhaps there was something left of the Count to save, after all. 

Obi-Wan huffed out a small laugh, and then turned to catch Cody’s gaze. He laced a hand with his and gave it a squeeze. That little sign said, _trust me_.

Cody’s answering squeeze told him, _you know I do._

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said. “Let’s go meet up with Spitfire and the 212th in medical.”

The Count looked at him for a moment, as if gauging the truthfulness of his answer. Or perhaps it was just surprise. So far, Dooku hadn’t really admitted to believing anyone would help him, not ever. 

A slow, soft smile spread across the Count’s face. He looked at them with such warmth that it transformed his face. The soft scent of sweet tea and happiness floated in the air.

There was _hope_ in the air.

The room became a little less Dark.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Vod - sibling (gender neutral)  
> Vod'e - siblings, plural  
> Mando'ad - Child of Mandalore, aka Mandalorian  
> Mando'ad'e - Children of Mandalore, aka Mandalorians, plural


End file.
